


I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do

by FanchonMoreau



Category: This Way Up
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanchonMoreau/pseuds/FanchonMoreau
Summary: She has friends with kids, and married friends, and family friends, and Aine’s friends, and Vish’s friends, and Vish’s friends’ girlfriends, and friends she just doesn’t see that often. But those aren’t friends like Charlotte. Charlotte’s a friend who’s just for her.While working on their women in finance event, Shona asks Charlotte something she's been wondering for a long time.
Relationships: Shona/Charlotte
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/gifts).



> _This Way Up_ is a hidden gem of a show that everyone should watch! Aisling Bea has created something so funny and honest about mental health and connection. It's six episodes and less than three hours long! Hulu or All4 in the UK! 
> 
> Honored to be the first fic on the Archive for this show. No pressure... 
> 
> Takes place sometime between episodes 5 and 6. 
> 
> Mentions of suicide ideation and a suicide attempt is obliquely referenced, as is consistent with the show.
> 
> Slight spoilers for series one of Derry Girls.

Shona wants to know everything about Charlotte. 

She doesn’t think that’s weird, or _too_ weird. Charlotte’s the first proper best friend she’s had in a long time. Sure, she has work colleagues, but they’re mostly men. She has friends with kids, and married friends, and family friends, and Aine’s friends, and Vish’s friends, and Vish’s friends’ girlfriends, and friends she just doesn’t see that often. But those aren’t friends like Charlotte. Charlotte’s a friend who’s just for her. 

She keeps a list of what Charlotte likes in her head; she figures it will come in handy if she ever needs to get Charlotte something at short notice. Her coffee order is dark roast, whole milk, no sugar, espresso if she needs it. She likes memoirs and biographies, not novels so much, unless they’re by Toni Morrison. She listens to Vivaldi when she needs to concentrate, Joni Mitchell or Kate Bush when she needs a good cry, and David Bowie most of the rest of the time. 

Red wine, whiskey, sambuca. And Jaffa cakes. She has a sleeve of Jaffa cakes in her desk for work emergencies. Or any emergency really. 

At Shona’s suggestion, they move their operation to Charlotte’s flat, away from Aine and Vish and to a quieter part of the city. Shona tells herself it’s a sensible move, but really she likes being in Charlotte’s flat with Charlotte’s things. There are framed pictures—Charlotte with her mum and her sister, Charlotte and her grandfather posing in front of St. Paul’s, Charlotte smiling and shielding her eyes from the Indian summer sun. It’s very homey and well put together, especially since Charlotte only moved in a year and a half ago. The warm browns and reds in the walls and the furniture make the flat feel more lived in than it is. Shona makes a place for herself on the plush leather sofa, where she can curl up with her laptop and five spreadsheets worth of event planning. It’s so much more comfortable here than it ever was at her place. 

Plus the cat likes her, which according to Charlotte is a very rare thing.

Three days before the kickoff event, they realize all of their graphics are the wrong file type in their Powerpoint. They spend hours trying to figure out what the hell it is Photoshop actually does, cursing at the laptop all the while. Charlotte orders them a late dinner, and Shona throws on an KCL hoodie of Charlotte's that she finds draped across a kitchen chair. 

“Sorry,” Shona says, and shrugs. 

Charlotte smiles. “No, it suits you. But I can turn up the heat if you’re cold.” 

Shona shakes her head. She wasn’t that cold to begin with, but Charlotte’s worn cotton hoodie is cozy and smells nice. She pulls the sleeves over her hands. Charlotte pours her a generous glass of wine and hands her a plate of chicken tikka masala and rice. The two of them clear the kitchen island of Charlotte's papers and sit next to each other. Their ankles brush as they climb up Charlotte's tall stools. 

“If I spend another second staring at the computer, my eyes are going to melt off my face,” Charlotte says. She starts eating in earnest, and then she pushes some of her food onto Shona’s plate. “This lamb is so good it’s insane, here, try.” 

Shona looks down at her food. She should excuse herself, check her phone and her messages. But she doesn't. 

She’s missing calls from Aine. She hasn’t looked at her phone in hours but she knows she’s missed calls from Aine. Vish, too, probably. She dropped her phone and bag near the door when she first got here, and she really did mean to fish it out and check it regularly. 

Aine's fine, Shona tells herself. She's been doing so much better recently, hasn't she? Shona’s watched little blue dot on her the Find Your Friends app go out to a bar a few times, even a club, apparently with her flatmate and his friends. And if she keeps that up, and then actually goes to her therapy appointments, maybe Shona can have time to herself like this. Time to spend with someone like Charlotte. 

And as it turned out, she and Charlotte had a bit of a situation.

What happened was Charlotte accidentally flipped their graphic inside out, and neither of them had any idea how to get it the right way again. That led them through a YouTube tutorial wormhole, and by the time they got the information they needed, they were both doing near-perfect impressions of overexcited American techies and laughing so hard that they were falling over each other. 

Her phone is still on the other side of the flat. But she can't bring herself to move. 

Shona looks up and sees Charlotte studying her. “You okay?” Charlotte asks. 

Shona nods, takes a bite of the lamb. Charlotte’s right, it’s incredible. “Yeah, just got a lot on,” Shona says. She swallows, and her voice breaks. “What with work and launching this and, you know, everything, I’m not even sure where my head is right now.” 

Charlotte offers her a compassionate half-smile, and then she bites her lip and looks down, a tic that Shona now recognizes. “I have an idea,” she says. She pushes her plate aside and leans forward. “Let’s talk about anything that isn’t about this project. Or work. Or Aine. Whatever you want to talk about that isn’t any of that.” 

Shona moves her plate out of the way too, so it’s just the two of them. She eyes the glasses of wine on the table and reminds herself how much they've shared since they began working together on this. Charlotte’s parents’ divorce, the white father who barely speaks to her. Aine, and every way that Shona failed to be the sister she needed. Years, _decades_ of working for unbearable men. 

But there’s one thing they’ve never talked about, because Shona’s always been too scared to ask. She’s never wanted to come across as nosy or invasive; she doesn’t want to be that kind of friend. She hates herself a little for even wanting to know. 

Shona looks up and sees that Charlotte’s still smiling. She relaxes, realizes she’s being ridiculous. It won't be awkward, because Charlotte will get it. She just _will_. 

“When did you first know you were gay?” Shona asks. 

Charlotte looks a little taken aback, but not shocked or horrified, thank god. But she doesn’t say anything for a few long, uncomfortable seconds, and Shona thinks, for the first time in this friendship, that she’s really messed up. 

“I’m sorry, it’s probably such a straight person thing to ask,” Shona says in a rush. “And you absolutely do not need—” 

“No, no, it’s fine!” Charlotte assures her. She smiles, rolls her eyes at herself. “It’s just very embarrassing.” 

Shona lets out a breath. They’ve covered embarrassing. She’s in safe territory again. “Yeah, well, I told you about the guy who refused to acknowledge my existence after I farted during sex, and objectively nothing can be more embarrassing than that.” 

Charlotte laughs, and after a moment, Shona laughs, too. _We’re friends_ , she thinks. _It’s okay to want to know this about her. It’s not weird._

“Well,” Charlotte starts, “at first I just thought I was just the smartest and least shallow of all my friends, because I wasn’t distracted by boys. I never fancied anyone. I didn’t really, you know, _get_ it, until sixth form when this girl became my lab partner. Kelly.” Charlotte pauses and bites her lip. She looks at Shona almost shyly, and then presses on. “I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, and I just wanted to be with her all the time. I kept trying to be her very best friend and I think I… part of me knew what was happening. And I just shoved it all the way down and piled a lot of denial on top of it.” 

Shona’s cheeks burn. She’s not exactly sure why she’s self conscious, but she does know she wants _more_. She wants to hear _more_. 

“So when did you actually, you know, do something about it?” she asks. 

“That took another few years,” Charlotte admits. “It was my second year of University and I had gone out to coffee and dinner with an older girl in my econ class. It wasn’t until she kissed me that I realized… she assumed we were dating.” 

Shona grins so big her face aches. It’s just so fucking charming. “Seriously?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Charlotte says, quietly and with some hesitance. She shifts her gaze to the ceiling. “So I was like, this is real, now,” she mutters. And then she collects herself, and laughs. “The embarrassing bit is that I was so repressed that as soon as it happened, I locked her in my bedroom and kept her there for a full week.” 

“That’s not embarrassing,” Shona laughs. “It’s kind of hot, actually.” 

She cringes as soon as the words come out of her mouth. That’s not a thing she should say to her friend and, fucking hell, her _business partner_ , about this really vulnerable thing that she’s sharing. It makes her sound like a straight guy who thinks lesbians are there for sexual gratification because that’s something they’ve seen in porn. 

That’s what Aine would tell her, anyway. 

But Charlotte’s unphased. She considers Shona for a moment, and something curious and unreadable passes across her face. Then she _smirks_. “Well, it gets worse from there,” she says. “This woman, Trisha, her family was extremely rich, so they had this apartment in Paris. And she took me there for reading week. I had never been to Paris, but I had absolutely no interest in being anywhere but her bed. I think I made it to the cafe next store for espresso and croissants a few times, but beyond that it was just…” Charlotte sighs. “Being so stupidly in love with a woman for the first time, hell, being in _love_ for the first time…” 

Shona lets herself get lost in the picture Charlotte paints. She imagines being wrapped in expensive sheets and eating nothing but baguettes and dark chocolate all day. Not even bothering to put on clothes. Maybe there are floor-to-ceiling windows, and sometimes you throw a blanket around yourself and peer between the curtains as the person you love sneaks up behind you and kisses your neck.

It’s a vision of Paris she’s never experienced for herself. She went there once for a weekend with Vish, but she was working half the time and he was angry with her, so they spent most of the time sulking. 

The trips she really remembers—Paris, Barcelona, Munich, and Budapest once, entirely by accident—were all with Aine. And the memories sting now, because what was happening in Aine’s head that Shona wasn’t seeing? In Barcelona, maybe three years ago, they were out all night dancing, and they somehow found themselves drinking wine on a beach in the early hours of the morning. Aine was still covered in glitter. She made jokes as Shona vomited on to the sand. 

She seemed so happy on that trip. And she probably wasn't at all. 

Shona bites back a sigh. She doesn’t want to think about it. If she can live in Charlotte’s Paris for just a few more seconds, then maybe she can leave that thought be for now. 

“It didn’t work out, of course,” Charlotte says, breaking the spell. “And then I came out to my family, and that was an absolute shit show. But it was nice while it lasted, I suppose.” 

Shona shakes her head. “That’s not embarrassing,” she insists. “It’s sweet.” 

Charlotte scoffs, and then stands up and starts cleaning up the takeaway they had for dinner. Shona gets the message: the conversation is over. She picks up her near-abandoned wine glass and takes a huge gulp. 

“Come on, then,” Charlotte says, grimacing slightly. She dumps the plates and silverware into the kitchen sink. “Back to it.” 

They go back to work, and Charlotte diligently keeps them on task. But every so often when she looks at Shona, her eyes seem to shine. But that could be just be how the light reflects off her laptop screen. 

When they’re done finalizing all of the digital files they need, it’s nearly one in the morning. Charlotte puts Shona in an Uber, and Shona tries to keep her bag closed and her phone away for the entire ride. 

She lasts half a minute.

She has twenty-four new texts. Most are from Aine, but there are a handful from Vish, too. Two missed calls, both Aine, no messages. 

She starts reading through Aine’s texts: 

_i still can’t believe irish jig zumba doesn’t exist, pretty sure that’s xenophobic_

_see i learned what the word means!_

_first the potatoes and now this?_

_yes, that was me making a joke of the fact the potato famine wasn’t a freak act of nature but actually british people mass murdering us_

_which reminds me HAVE YOU WATCHED DERRY GIRLS YET_

_its very relatable its about Irish teen girls who are horny all the time_

_basically ur biography am i right or am i right?_

_and they have a lesbian friend! just like you!_

_n e way after ur thing is over we shld watch derry girls_

_without vish tho, this is irish gals only. sry vish_

And then there are a few more texts giving Vish shit for not getting their Irish jokes, and one that’s just a long paragraph of alternating shamrock and rainbow emojis. Her last text has a timestamp of 11:15pm, just under two hours ago. 

_i really dont mind that ur not answering, i know ur working on ur thing. dont get ur knickers in a twist about it. im good._

Shona heaves a huge sigh. She checks the Find Your Friends app and sees that Aine is at her apartment and not walking in a park somewhere, thank god. The mass murdering joke is a bit too dark for Shona’s comfort, even if it’s historically accurate. She doesn’t like it when Aine thinks too much about death. 

The texts from Vish are just him asking if he can come by when she and Charlotte are done working and then saying maybe tomorrow night. She types out a quick _sry babe next time_ and clicks back into her thread with Aine.

She wishes she could believe Aine when she says she’s good. She wants to be able to let the worry _go._ She clicks back into Find Your Friends and sees that yes, Aine is still at her flat. She hasn’t moved in the sixty seconds since Shona last checked. 

God, she needs to get a fucking grip. 

It's been months, _months_. But even now. There’s still a part of her that thinks the next call is going to be _that_ call. The call with the worst possible news. 

She got through almost a whole night at Charlotte’s without thinking that could happen. She’s not sure that’s progress. She knows that for a few hours, she felt a little better. 

When she gets back to her flat, she goes straight to her bedroom, kicks off her trousers and pulls her blouse right over her head. Her makeup’s a mess; she’ll deal with it later. She’s about to put on her pajamas when her phone lights up with a text.

It’s just Aine, she tells herself. And Aine’s fine. 

But another text pops up, and Shona sees that it’s not Aine, it’s Charlotte.

She grabs the phone and collapses on her bed in just her bra and knickers. 

_obviously as soon as you left I went back to watching YouTube tutorials._

_it’s an art form, truly._

Shona watches as three dots appear on the message. She pulls down the covers and wraps herself in her sheets and blankets as she waits for Charlotte to finish typing. 

A video link pops up. 

_this is an actual real life woman doing one of these! and it makes so much more sense, big shock._

Shona smiles. _I didn’t think women could figure out the technology,_ she writes. 

_or use so many big words!_

_or figure out that many steps!_ Shona adds a little upside down smiley emoji. Then deletes it. Then adds it again and sends the message. 

Charlotte sends a right side up smiley face back. _I’m going to watch her whole channel now. maybe she has a tutorial for dealing with bullshit men._

Shona laughs out loud at that. _if only!_

_If only. see you tomorrow x_

Shona hums contentedly to herself, and then places her phone next to her on her pillow. She clicks the video, and a young woman with sing-songy Scottish accent says that today she will be teaching them how to merge layers in Photoshop. 

She opens up Find Your Friends one last time and sees Aine’s little blue dot exactly where it’s supposed to be. She watches it expand and contract, expand and contract. It’s soothing. Aine’s okay. 

She should get up and change. But she’s tired, and the sheets smell so clean, and her bed is so comfortable. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine it’s a bed somewhere else. That she’ll roll over and see floor-to-ceiling windows and a view over Rue François Premier. 

And someone she loves there beside her.


End file.
